


Seeking Normal

by OrcGirl



Category: Wolverine and the X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: The Animated Series
Genre: Adorable Hank McCoy, Beast Hank McCoy, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Beauty school, Charles Xavier is a Sweetheart, Cosmetology, Dork Hank McCoy, Dorks in Love, F/M, Falling In Love, Hair, Insecure Hank McCoy, Long Hair, Love Story, Marvel Universe, Mutant Powers, Mutant Pride, Mutants, Parental Ororo Munroe, Romance, X-men - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrcGirl/pseuds/OrcGirl
Summary: A Hank McCoy/OC romanceFrom the outside looking in, Wendy Collins had led a pretty normal life: She taught beauty school, had her own apartment, & she was looking forward to her upcoming wedding... But that's because her & her parents had done a pretty good job at hiding the fact that she was a mutant since she was 12. After a strange accident in which her powers were publicly exposed, however, her life becomes anything but normal. Luckily Xavier's Institute was happy to recruit her, but life at the institute presents its own challenges.Hank McCoy, for all his genius, walked a path of poorly-fated good intentions. He had a tendency to wreck even the best of his plans: From lab experiments, to time travel to relationships, maybe it was just time to give it a rest. Being large, monstrous & covered in blue fur certainly didn't help things. Society tells us that being "normal" is the height of propriety, but what one does one do when being normal is no longer an option? And what if someone else is falling in love with the things that make us different?(Based primarily on the animated series with some of the comic lore thrown in. Set in sort of an AU, so I could work with all the characters.)
Relationships: Hank McCoy/OC, Hank McCoy/Original Female Character
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	Seeking Normal

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is mostly exposition. Just setting things up so you can begin to understand Wendy a little bit. Unfortunately she won't be meeting Hank until the next chapter. I took a few artistic liberties with how Xavier's classes and all are run, as I couldn't really find much information about it.  
> Will set to "Mature" rating later, as story will get more adult in nature.

Wendy clicked off the ignition and the hum of her small Kia went silent, leaving only the tunes of a soft rock station behind. She groaned into her dashboard, feeling every last one of the 709 miles she just drove, in her neck and back. Although she was anxious to stretch her stiff legs, she couldn’t quite bring herself to step out of the car just yet.

_I could just turn back_ , she thought. _Turn the car back on and head back to Cincinnati. Call them when I’m halfway between and just cancel the whole thing._

Like driving back home would press the reset button on everything that had happened. As if never stepping out of the car could somehow make everything go back to normal. Wendy rested her head against the steering wheel the faux leather felt cool and soothing on her forehead, which was sweating profusely despite the AC having been on full-blast the whole ride.

_But you don’t get to have normal anymore, do you?_ Wendy thought.

She exhaled sharply as she flipped down the overhead mirror. The ten-and-a-half-hour drive from Ohio to New York had not been kind to her complexion, even with stopping halfway between at a cheap motel for a few hours of something _almost_ like sleep.

“I guess there’s only so much setting spray can do,” she muttered at the smudged foundation on her nose. “And as for you…” Wendy turned her attention to the stray hairs crowning her head. “You’re going to need a good long brushing, but it’s going to have to wait a bit.”

The impossibly long strands of her hair shuddered in response.

“Now don’t get started. You need to behave! We have to make a good impression,” Wendy said, sternly. Her hair replied with a ripple along her tawny mane as though huffing in exasperation. Wendy rolled her eyes.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she grumbled. “I know we look a fright, but we have to work with what we have.” Wendy knew her hair was just as exhausted with the trip as she was and would be grateful for some freshening up, but she was still a little miffed with how, in its restlessness, it had taken to fiddling with every knob and button on the car dashboard and doors. While Wendy was driving.

Going 75 mph.

On I-84.

Wendy was silently grateful that her father had insisted she pay extra for tinted windows. She flipped the mirror up, tossed her phone in her purse and gathered the strap over her shoulder before pausing at the door latch. Wendy held her breath.

“You don’t get to have normal anymore…” Wendy repeated aloud, exhaling as she opened the door. She placed one ballet flat sole on the pavement followed by another and her hair came tumbling soon after. The golden tendrils bouncing with delight at being free from the car. Standing at full height her hair dragged several inches behind on the ground now. It had grown a bit since she had left home.

Wendy rounded to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a button click. As she reached for one of her suitcases a rogue lock of hair climbed onto her shoulder.

“Curious, are you?” Wendy muttered. “Or maybe you just don’t want to get dirty from dragging on the ground?” The lock relaxed across her shoulder in response. Wendy decided to pull the suitcase with her make-up, toiletries, and a few changes of clothes, first. She would come back for the rest later.

“Alright, here we go…” Wendy whispered, tugging the suitcase along behind her. Her breath caught at the sight of the mansion looming before her. Xavier’s Institute was large & stately, sprawling midst tall tress and framed by well-trimmed hedges. Wendy couldn’t decide if the sight was breathtaking or ominous, but she refused to be intimidated.

“Just breathe,” she told herself. “You can do this. You’ve come all this way, there’s no sense in turning back now.” Wendy ascended the front steps, her suitcase bumping along beside her.

“Not like you have much to go back to anyway…” Wendy added just as she reached the front doors. The lock of hair on her shoulder perked up as she gazed at the tall double doors, and the remaining tendrils curled sinuously around her legs as if to take a peek.

“Well here goes nothing,” Wendy huffed and held a hand up to knock…

Just as one of the doors opened with a loud, disconcerting creak. Wendy froze as a tall, dark-skinned woman with brilliant white hair stepped into view. There was something oddly familiar about her, but Wendy couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Of course, everyone knew about the X-Men. She could have easily been featured on TV or a clickbait article Wendy had caught. The X-Men were a frequent news topic, plastered all over social media, in both favorable and unfavorable lights. The latter far more often.

“Hmm… need to get that oiled,” the woman muttered at the creaky door hinge.

Wendy suddenly realized she still had her fist raised stupidly poised to knock, and she dropped it quickly behind her back. The woman at the door didn’t seem to notice. Instead her lips curled into a polite smile.

“You must be Wendy,” she said. Her voice, like her smile, was elegant but friendly.

“Oh um, yeah. That’s me,” Wendy stammered. “Sorry, I was erm, just about to knock…”

“No need. Charles already knew you were here,” the woman replied. “Come inside. I’ll send a few of the boys out to get the rest of your things, later.”

“G-great, yes. Um, thanks,” Wendy said, cursing herself silently at her sudden lack of eloquence. She stepped out of the bright, late-summer morning into the darkened foyer. Once her eyes adjusted, however, she found the hallway before her wasn’t uninviting. The walls were painted in soft earth tones -modern and clean, but not sterile and hospital-like, as she had expected.

“Follow me,” the woman said. “Charles will want to meet with you before we get you settled into a room.”

Wendy, whose tongue felt like lead, only nodded. She followed the beautiful, white-haired woman to the end of the foyer where they stopped at an elevator. The woman hit a button, and a soft whirr resounded in the otherwise quiet hall. Wendy could hear muffled voices, drifting down the hallways in either direction, and the faint smell of cafeteria food wafted into her nostrils. She’d skipped breakfast that morning, too jittery to eat, and she hoped her stomach wouldn’t growl and further add to her embarrassment.

“Classes are currently underway,” her elegant guide said. “They’ll let out for the next period in a few minutes. If you were wondering why it’s so quiet right now.”

Wendy only nodded again. This was a school after all, she reminded herself. But already quite different from the cosmetology school she had attended years ago. A cheerful ding interrupted her thoughts, and the doors of the elevator slid open effortlessly. Wendy followed her guide inside. The doors closed behind them and silence descended.

“So um,” Wendy cleared her throat. “How did the professor know I was here?”

The woman blinked at her.

“Oh right, telepath. Excuse me,” Wendy said, dropping her eyes to the floor.

_Way to make things MORE awkward, Wendy…_ She thought.

To Wendy’s relief her companion seemed amused rather than annoyed.

“You’ll get used to it in time,” she smiled.

“Is he always like that?” Wendy asked, hoping she wasn’t being offensive.

“The professor tunes out most external thoughts, out of respect for people’s privacy of course,” she explained. “But sometimes when someone’s thoughts read a little loud, or intense, they tend to get through his filter.”

“Oh…” Wendy could feel heat rising to her cheeks. Just how much of her thoughts had he heard? Wendy feared she was already making a poor impression of herself.

Seeming to sense her unease, the woman next to her changed the subject.

“I don’t know if you remember, but my name is Ororo. I’m Professor Xavier’s assistant and a member of the X-Men,” she stated. “We met once before, a long time ago, but only briefly.”

_Ah,_ Wendy thought. _That’s why she seemed familiar._

“Yes, now that you mention it, I do remember,” Wendy said. “…When I was a kid.”

When Wendy’s powers had first manifested at the age of twelve, Professor Xavier and Ororo had approached her parents about attending the institute. Her parents had shooed her off to her bedroom, removing her entirely from the conversation. But ever precocious, Wendy remembered creeping to the edge of the stairs to listen to the decision being made of her future; the one of which she was given little say in. The professor’s offer was sincere, but her parents were as stubborn as Xavier was amenable. The meeting didn’t go over well.

Ororo smiled again. “The professor and I are very pleased to have you here, now.”

Wendy’s nerves eased a bit. At least her guide was nice.

The elevator slowed to a gentle halt, and the pair exited down another long hallway. Ororo’s heels clicked against the solid wood floors, and Wendy’s flats made dull thudding noises as they approached several more doors. Behind them Wendy could hear more muffled voices. Classrooms, she concluded.

Behind her, Wendy’s hair grew curious and began to curl up in locks around her. A few locks trailed their strands along the wall and peeked into the clouded glass on the classroom doors.

Wendy hissed at them to stop, just as one snuck around to perch on Ororo’s shoulder. Ororo glanced at it, wide eyed.

“Well, hello there,” she chuckled.

Wendy sighed. “I’m sorry. It does this…” She tugged at the lock and tossed it behind her. “I still don’t have much control of it, yet…”

Ororo nodded. “That’s quite alright,” she said, and looked over her shoulder at Wendy. “That’s why you’re here, after all.”

Wendy smiled and ran a hand through her hair.

“Yeah… I guess you’re right.”

“The professor’s office is not much further. It’s at the end of this hallway,” Ororo said, just as the doors around the two of them flung open and students filtered out of the classrooms.

Voices and footsteps filled the once quiet hall. Much to Wendy’s surprise the students all varied in ages -some looking as young as 12 or 13, some teenagers, 20-somethings, 30-somethings (like herself) and even a few that looked a little older. They were as varied in appearance as they were in age, too. Most of them looked more or less human, but sporting pointed ears, long talons on their fingers, and even flaming hair – as in literally one girl’s hair was on fire! Some, however, looked more like creatures from Star Trek -green scales, or covered in reddish-brown fur and one with horns and batwings. Wendy wanted to get a closer look at them all, but she also didn’t want to be disrespectful. She figured she’d have plenty of time to observe her new classmates over the next few months, anyway.

Unfortunately, however, not all of the students extended the same courtesy to her. Several of them stared as she walked past, murmuring to each other behind cupped hands. Wendy hunched her shoulders and kept her gaze low. Her hair sensing her unease even gathered itself close behind her back, instead of fluttering itself about at all the sights around her. Whispers and eyes followed Wendy everywhere now; they had for months, but she still wasn’t used to it.

At last they reached the professor’s office. ‘Professor Charles Xavier’ was engraved in a gold-plated plaque next to his door. Ororo knocked once, before opening the door and ushering Wendy inside. Wendy gulped back a lump in her throat as she stepped into his office. It was a large, pristinely-neat room with a modern-minimalist décor, that would seem almost spartan in appearance if it weren’t for the fact that every item and furniture piece looked of exquisite quality. Seated behind a long, mahogany desk with his hands folded on its shiny surface was a well-dressed older gentleman in a wheelchair, who looked no-less distinguished for having a bald head: Professor Charles Xavier.

“Ah, good morning Ms. Collins,” he greeted. “Please, have a seat.”

“G-good morning, Professor Xavier,” Wendy stammered. “Pleased to meet you… again.”

The professor nodded. “Likewise.”

Wendy rolled her suitcase to the side of a nearby chair and plopped into it. Ororo sat gracefully in a chair next to her.

“I trust your trip was pleasant,” Xavier inquired.

“Y-yes it was okay,” Wendy replied, nervously smoothing the wrinkles in the long tunic she wore over her yoga pants. “It was a long drive, of course.”

“I understand that your enrollment at the institute may be a bit overwhelming for you, but there’s no need for you to be nervous,” Xavier stated.

Wendy managed to smile weakly. “Was I that obvious?”

The professor returned her smile.

“Every student, and every member of the X-Men, started fresh here, just as you have. Rest assured you will have every resource available to you to help you grow and cultivate your mutant abilities, as well as help you feel more comfortable.”

“Thank you, professor,” Wendy let her shoulders relax a bit. “I appreciate that. And um…” she looked down at her feet sheepishly. “I also appreciate you accepting me into the institute, despite my initial refusal...”

“I understand that it was not your choice back then to reject your invitation to the institute. As you were only a child, at the time, the choice rested on your parents,” Professor Xavier explained. “And while with my expertise I may be able to make my own informed judgments on such matters, I still have to respect the wishes of a potential student’s parents or guardian.”

The Professor was backlit by a large window overlooking a courtyard. Wendy watched as several young students walked along its paths in the bright sunlight. She wondered for a moment what her life would have been like had she been allowed to attend the Xavier Institute when she was young, like them.

“And given the nature in which your powers manifested in adulthood,” Xavier continued, snapping Wendy out of her thoughts. “I felt that you would be much safer here.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Wendy shifted uncomfortably. Her hair was twitching, the ends curling and uncurling around her. Wendy had come to understand one unfortunate truth about being a mutant: Even if your powers weren’t necessarily a threat to the people around you, _other people_ could be a threat to the people around you.

“I guess you’ve seen the video then?” Wendy asked, bracing herself.

“I have…” Professor Xavier answered. Wendy looked down at her hands, her shoulders tensing again.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of Wendy,” Professor Xavier said. “What happened was only a result of repressing your abilities for so long. Countless other mutants have experienced similar jarring situations.”

“Yeah, and how many of them became a viral meme because of it?” Wendy muttered, but instantly regretted it. She had no reason to be rude or curt with the professor who was gracious enough to take her in. “I-I-‘m sorry, professor. I didn’t mean-.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Xavier seemed completely unphased. “I’m aware you’ve been through a difficult experience. It will take time for you to come to appreciate your abilities for the gifts they are.”

_Some gift,_ Wendy thought. _Losing my career, my apartment, my friends, my fiancée…_

Wendy suddenly remembered she was in the presence of a telepath, and shut down her thoughts, but the expression on his face suggested he’d heard it all.

“It will take time…” He repeated. He paused for a moment before continuing. “I think you will find your case is not so usual, Ms. Collins. There are a number of students here whose powers did not fully manifest until adulthood. Some are new recruits, just as you are. I’m certain you will not struggle to find your place here.”

Wendy wasn’t so sure, but she nodded anyway.

Ororo stood up from her chair and crossed the room to a large file cabinet. From there she fished out two folders that had Wendy’s name written in bold letters across the top. She placed them on the desk in front of Wendy and opened them both.

“Here at the institute we design curriculums particular to a student’s age, knowledge set and abilities. In this folder you’ll find your course schedule, and information about each of your classes,” the professor explained.

Wendy’s eyes scanned the pages, but none of the words really seemed to register. Her situation just didn’t feel real, yet. She decided to look at it more closely later after she’d had some lunch and maybe a cup of coffee… or maybe after she’d gone to her room and had a good cry. Whatever came first.

“And of course, we have a few documents for you to sign,” the professor said. “Mostly just release forms, and general legal formalities. Once you sign those, you can begin your first day at the institute.” Xavier smiled, and Wendy tried to smile back but her stomach felt like it had dropped to her knees.

Ororo flipped through the pages in the folder. Her and the professor explained each one carefully. Wendy hesitated, hovering the black ballpoint pen over the space where her signature would soon be.

_It’s not too late,_ Wendy thought. _You can just throw up your hands and say ‘_ thanks but no thanks’ _and peace right out that door. You can go home, and pretend all this never happened…_

But it did happen. No amount of signing, or roads driven, or phone calls made would ever change that. She couldn’t go back home. She could hide in her old bedroom, in her parents’ house, for the next 5 years or the next 50 years, and it wouldn’t make a difference. This was her life, now. No more _normal._

Wendy scratched her signature on every page indicated without further hesitation.

Once all necessary documents were signed, Ororo gathered the papers, and gave her the file folder containing her course schedule and important student information. Professor Xavier extended a veiny, long-fingered hand across his desk.

“Welcome to the Xavier Institute For Higher Learning, Ms. Collins,” he said. “You’re officially a student here.”

Wendy couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement in her chest. A student. At Xavier’s Institute for Higher Learning. And someday… one of the X-Men.

Clutching the file to her breast, Wendy extended her own hand and shook his firmly.

“Thank you so much, Professor Xavier. Although it may not seem like it, I really am grateful to be here.”

“And we’re grateful to have you with us, Ms. Collins,” Xavier replied. “I do hope that the institute will help you reach your full potential.”

“Please allow me to show you around,” Ororo said. “And if you leave your suitcase and your car keys here we’ll make sure that your bags are taken up to your room.”

“Oh, great!” Admittedly Wendy wasn’t looking forward to dragging her bag all around the institute. She abandoned her suitcase, pulled her purse over her shoulder again and followed Ororo out of the office.

“Best of luck to you, Ms. Collins,” Xavier said, just as they were walking out the door.

“Thank you so much, Professor,” Wendy replied with a little wave over her shoulder. Much to her embarrassment, a lock of her hair curled upward and mimicked her hand wave. Xavier muttered a noise something like a chuckle as she exited. Wendy slapped a palm to her forehead when she was out of his sight and yanked her hair along with her.

Wendy followed Ororo down the hall, which was mostly empty again, save for a few stragglers running late to their classes. She was grateful for the lack of stares and whispers. Ororo filled the silence with information about the school.

“There are five class periods a day, but most students do not have five full classes in their schedule every day,” she explained. “Check your course schedule as your classes will vary by day.”

Wendy was paying attention but couldn’t help overhearing the conversations filtering out from the classrooms she passed. The scratch of chalk, the shuffle of papers and textbooks, and the murmurs of voices settling in for another class period, all reminded her that despite appearances, Xavier’s was a school above all else.

“There are 15-minute intervals in between each class,” Ororo continued. “Your textbooks are provided by the institute and will be delivered to your room along with your bags. As you are in the adult curriculum however, your classes will focus more on hands-on physical training, and applicable skills than on academics, so you won’t have too many textbooks to worry about. Most of the academic classes are in this wing, for reference.”

They walked past the elevator and into the other wing where the hallways were lined with big open windows, revealing the classrooms within. Ororo explained that this was where the majority of the physical training classes were held. Through one window, Wendy could see various mutants in what she hoped was only mock battle. The instructor was a short, but incredibly buff man with a lot of dark, scruffy hair and a scowl on his face, as he paced the room.

“Block! I said block!” He barked at a nervous-looking pair of mutants towards the front of the class.

The next room was a little calmer as the students appeared to be practicing some form of martial arts. Followed by another room filled with gym equipment and students in various states of physical activity. Several rooms were dark, and currently not in use, and others were active, but Wendy could not determine exactly what the students in them were doing.

Ororo and Wendy reached the end of the hallway and went down a stairwell to the first floor. But Ororo stopped at large, white door with the words “Danger Room” written across the front.

“This is the stairwell to the Danger Room,” she explained. “You’ll find yourself quite familiar with this place over the next few months.” Catching Wendy’s wide-eyed expression, she elaborated. “It’s basically a training room designed specifically for mutants. It presents a variety of obstacles, at different levels of difficulty, to help mutants build their physical abilities as well as their mutant powers. A lot of your combat training classes will be held here, so I’ll save the tour of it for your instructor.”

Wendy continued to follow Ororo all over the mansion. She was shown the recreation room and the library which were open to student use 24/7. The cafeteria was in the middle of the mansion.

“Breakfast is served between 6am and 9am, lunch between noon and 2pm, and dinner between 6pm and 8pm,” Ororo told her. Wendy pulled out her phone to check the time: 11:30am. Her stomach gurgled at the delicious smells wafting from within, but at least she didn’t have to wait much longer.

Their tour continued by the gymnasium, the pool (Wendy was ecstatic to discover they had a whirlpool and sauna, as well,) and the laboratory and doctor’s office, with the name “Dr. Henry McCoy” printed in a gold-plated plaque next to it. Wendy thought she recognized the name but did not have time to dwell on it as they continued to the dormitories.

Wendy’s legs were already screaming at her from the exertion, and she tried desperately to even her breathing, so Ororo wouldn’t notice her labored wheezing. If Wendy’s class curriculum consisted of more physical education than academic, she could already tell she was going to have a rough time. The weekly yoga classes had allowed her to keep her figure while still having a slice of cheesecake once in a while, but it had not prepared her for any real level of physical activity.

“Off to the right you’ll find the men’s dorms,” Ororo gestured. “And this way is the women’s dorms.”

A few female students passed them but paid them little mind as they climbed the steps to the second floor. She could hear pop music playing softly, presumably coming from within one of the rooms. A few giggles bounced off the walls, and the sound of running water echoed in the hall.

“To your right is the communal bathroom and showers,” Ororo indicated two doors marked “ladies restroom” and “ladies shower.” Wendy frowned, she wasn’t thrilled about having to use a communal bathroom.

The institute was so vast, Wendy wondered how she could possibly remember where everything was. She feared she was doomed to at least a week of being tardy to every class until she got used to the place. Wendy’s poor sense of direction had been a source of endless teasing from her family and friends. She flinched suddenly at the memories, not because of the teasing, even she cracked jokes about her poor navigation skills. It just reminded her that she didn’t have any friends anymore.

“And here,” Ororo stopped abruptly. “Is your room.” She fished out a key from her pocket dangling from a round plastic fob with the number “404” printed on it. Ororo handed Wendy the key and knocked softly.

“Come in! The door’s unlocked!” A cheerful voice called from within.

Wendy held her breath as Ororo swung the door open to reveal a modest, but cozy room inside. There were two full size beds, already furnished with bleach-white bed clothes, one on either side of the room, with a large window in between. Each side had a desk and chest of drawers with a vanity mirror. Beneath the window was a mini fridge and a small cabinet with a microwave on top. Wendy noticed the bed on the left was piled with her luggage, and her car keys sat on her pillow. Several textbooks were stacked neatly on a shelf over her desk. Seated on the bed at the right was a young woman with dark, chin-length hair and thick glasses. She was bent at the waist, fastening her tennis shoe, but sat up as Ororo and Wendy entered.

“Hello Amanda, how are you today?” Ororo asked.

“Hey Ororo,” she replied, smiling. “I’m good. What’s up?”

“Glad to hear it,” Ororo said. “I’d like you to meet your new roommate.” She put an arm around Wendy’s shoulder and gently guided her into the room. “Amanda this is Wendy, she just arrived today.”

Amanda’s smile curled wider. “Oh hey, I was wondering when I was going to get a roomie. Nice to meet you.” She seemed pleasant enough.

“And Wendy, this is Amanda, she enrolled here about two weeks before you,” Ororo explained.

Wendy brushed her hair from her face and tried to smile back. “N-nice to meet you too.”

“I suppose I’ll let you get settled then,” Ororo stated. “Do you have questions before I take my leave?”

Wendy felt as though her head was swimming in all the information she’d already had to absorb, today. She knew she would probably have a million questions later but couldn’t think of a single one to ask.

“No, I can’t think of anything off-hand,” she shook her head. “I believe you covered everything, Ororo.”

“Well, if you do have any questions don’t hesitate to seek me or the professor out,” she stated, then tilted her head slightly in Amanda’s direction. “And I’m sure Amanda will be happy to help you too.”

“You bet!” Amanda chirped, and gave Ororo a thumbs-up.

“There’s also a map of the institute in your file,” Ororo mentioned to Wendy. “Should you need it.”

Wendy sighed loudly in relief. “Oh thank god, I had no idea how I was going to remember where everything was! I thought I was going to get lost for sure!”

Ororo laughed. “It’s easy to get turned around in this place, at first.” She turned to leave but paused before walking out the door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Once you are settled, you’ll need to report to Dr. McCoy’s office for a physical examination -just any time before 5pm.”

“Sure, no problem,” sitting in a doctor’s office was about the last thing Wendy wanted to do, especially when her stomach was empty and the bed in front of her seemed so inviting.

“Have a good evening, Wendy” Ororo said. “And you too, Amanda. I’m certain I’ll be seeing you ladies around the institute.” She exited, pulling the door gently closed behind her.

An awkward hush fell over the room after Ororo left. Wendy had never had a roommate before. At the age of 22, she’d gone straight from living at her parent’s house to having her own apartment -alone. It had never occurred to her that she might have to share a room with someone else when she got here… Or a bathroom… or a shower.

“So I take it you’re a late mutie, too?” Amanda asked. Wendy turned cautiously toward her.

“A what?” She asked.

“A late mutie,” Amanda repeated. “A mutant whose powers developed in adulthood, instead of as a teenager or as a kid.” 

“Oh…” Wendy exhaled sharply -she hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. “Sort of, I guess…” She crossed her arms over her chest, self-consciously.

“I didn’t realize how many of us there were until I came here,” Amanda said. “But here I am, 32-years-old and my powers _just_ decided to show up.”

“We’re the same age,” Wendy stated.

“Really?” Amanda adjusted the dark-rimmed glasses on her nose. “You look younger… Well, I guess that’s why they put us both together. Makes sense they’d pair people in similar age ranges.”

Wendy thought Amanda looked young too. Honestly, she was very relieved Amanda was the same age. She couldn’t imagine rooming with a teenager. _This_ situation was awkward enough, and teaching had made her realize just how out of touch she was with Generation Z. 

“My parents are both mutants, so I figured it was just a matter of time,” Amanda added. “How about you? Any other mutants in your family?”

“No, just me,” Wendy shrugged. “My parents are both nor-,” she almost said the word _normal_ and corrected herself. “-Ordinary, that is. None of my cousins, aunts, uncles or grandparents have shown the mutant gene. I’m the little family embarrassment, heh.” She tried to laugh, but the joke fell flat. It had sounded much better in her head.

Amanda didn’t seem offended, fortunately.

“That seems to be most everyone around here,” she replied.

Wendy looked her roommate up and down: Dark, neatly-trimmed hair; round face; very large (admittedly) breasted; olive skin; thick, athletic build; dressed in a white t-shirt, blue capri sweatpants & white tennis shoes. She looked pretty _normal,_ but that wasn’t always an indicator of non-mutant status.

“Um…” Wendy twirled a lock of hair around her finger -a nervous habit. “Is it rude of me to ask…”

“-What my powers are?” Amanda finished her sentence. “Not at all. It’s not like you’re asking my bra size.” Amanda winked. “For that you’ll have to ask me out to dinner, first.”

Wendy was chuckling in spite of herself. At least her new roommate had a good sense of humor.

“But it’s probably easier to explain if I just show you rather than tell you… Hang on a sec,” Amanda straightened her back, balled her hands into fists, closed her eyes and inhaled and exhaled slowly for a few seconds. Wendy’s eyes were like saucers as she watched her roommate dissolve from a cute girl into a translucent purple amorphous puddle of goo on her bed. Wendy’s hands flew to her mouth, suppressing a gasp. Within the gelatinous ooze she could see the t-shirt, pants and tennis shoes her roommate had been wearing. Her glasses floated to the surface and behind them two large bubbles formed -her eyes. The glasses hung slightly crooked upon them, and just below that a wide, gaping hole appeared and churned into a smile.

“Ta-da!” Amanda-the-goo-girl exclaimed.

“What the-,” Wendy’s voice trailed off. “Wow… that’s… that’s incredible, Amanda!”

The bubbles that were her eyes narrowed and the gaping maw grinned.

“Thanks!” Amanda chirped. “Comes in handy when you’re trying to stuff yourself into Spanx. Not so much it happens involuntarily every time you sneeze.”

Wendy found herself laughing again. “I can just imagine…”

The pile of goo that was Amanda began to wiggle and twist, making groaning noises as she moved.

“And um… sometimes… ugh… I… can’t…” Amanda groaned, then stopped gyrating and sighed loudly. “Can you just give my arm a little tug here?” She extended a vaguely limb-shaped stream of goo towards Wendy.

Wendy hesitated, fearing what touching a morphing goo glob might feel like, but reached out with apprehensive hands. To her surprise it didn’t feel slimy or sticky at all. It was strangely cool and smooth -like those gel filled tube toys you could find in every theme park and dollar store in the 90s. Water wigglies, Wendy thought they were called, but couldn’t remember exactly.

With a gentle tug, Amanda’s body slowly began to form again. Her hair and skin were the last to return, but morphing seemed to leave her in quite a disheveled state. Both her head and left arm were sticking out of the crew neckline of her t-shirt, her bra was on her head, only one leg was in her pants, her panties looked like they might be on backwards, both shoes were off, one of her socks was on her right hand and her glasses were dangling off her left ear.

“As you can see, I don’t quite have the hang of it yet,” Amanda stated.

Wendy tried not to laugh.

“Here, let me help you out a little,” Wendy removed the bra from her head and helped her peel the t-shirt over her head and arm. She wondered if Amanda had been straightening herself up like this, when her and Ororo had stepped into the room to find her fastening her shoes, earlier.

“Thanks,” Amanda muttered as she checked her glasses for smudges. “So what about yours?” She asked as she cleaned her glasses with her t-shirt. “What are your mutant abilities?”

“Well…” Wendy began. As if on cue her hair divided into about 8 separate locks and simultaneously curled themselves up snake-like around her. Amanda looked up from fastening her bra, her eyes wide and jaw hanging open. Immediately Wendy’s hair locks swarmed around Amanda for a closer look. One ruffled Amanda’s hair, another tickled her nose, while the others started to wrap themselves around her fingertips.

“Whoa…” Amanda replied. “So I guess the freakishly-long hair isn’t a fashion statement.”

“Uh huh,” Wendy nodded. “And I’m still struggling with the whole control thing, myself…”

Wendy bundled her hair and tossed it over her shoulders. 

“C’mon you guys, leave her alone. I think it’s high time you had a brush anyway.”

Amanda’s eyebrows arched as a puzzled expression twisted her features. _Uh oh_ , Wendy knew that look. She frowned and quickly turned to the suitcase on her bed. She opened it and rummaged for her hairbrush, trying to occupy herself as she feared Amanda’s inevitable recognition.

“Wait…” Amanda said behind her. “You’re… you’re ‘Hair Girl,’ aren’t you?”

Wendy grimaced into her suitcase. The anonymity was nice while it lasted.

“Yup, that’s me…” She muttered.

“I’ve seen that video a thousand times,” Amanda continued, clearly excited by this realization.

Wendy did not share her enthusiasm.

“You and everyone else on the planet, it seems…” Wendy said, curtly as she turned around, brush in hand.

“Sorry,” Amanda said, looking down at her legs. She started pulling her panties down to orient them properly. “I didn’t mean…” She sounded sincere, at least.

Wendy shook her head. She wished she could just be bitchy (god knows she had earned it,) but it was never a good look on her. She was quiet for a moment as she began to brush her long hair, starting at the tips and slowly working upwards. Her locks rippled enthusiastically, enjoying the much-needed attention.

“No, it’s fine,” Wendy sighed. “I guess that’s what happens when you go viral…”

_That_ video. The one taken on that ill-fated, and incidentally last, day at the cosmetology school she taught at. (Or used to, anyway.) The one she didn’t like to think about but rarely could she avoid daily reminders of its existence. Nearly a year later it still kept her from having normal jobs, normal relationships with people, and a normal existence, in general.

“Was that the first time your powers showed up?” Amanda asked.

“Not exactly,” Wendy said, her hair was still rippling happily underneath her brush strokes. “It started when I was twelve. I just woke up one morning and the floor of my room was covered in hair -my hair. But it didn’t really do anything other than just grow really, really fast, and usually only in my sleep. The whole tentacle Medusa-thing didn’t start until… well, the day that video was taken.”

It had started like any other day, Wendy remembered. She got up at 6am, had coffee and a bagel, put on make-up and hurried off to work. She cursed traffic, as usual, and got caught by that same damn light by the JC Penny like she did every morning. Little inconveniences she never knew she’d miss one day.

Wendy had bid good morning to her fellow teachers, and staff. Several students were already in her classroom, unpacking their supplies and ready to begin. In her personal life, Wendy was engaged, looking for a house with her fiancée, and arguing with her parents over every single minute detail in their wedding plans. Things she thought were _so_ stressful then. But at work she was queen of her realm -a red dye stained and slightly sulfur-smelling one, but hers, nonetheless.

But even the most gracious of queens still had to deal with unruly subjects. Two students that semester always seemed more interested in gossiping than in learning. Attempts to quiet them had failed. Wendy rolled her eyes at them that morning as she proceeded to speak louder and louder over them, discussing proper hair lightening techniques.

Wendy had turned her back to write something on the whiteboard, and their chatter reached her ears. She focused on each line, carefully. Their words didn’t matter, she reminded herself, what she was teaching mattered. The school mattered. Her job mattered. How her hair looked every day mattered. How well her highlighter accented her cheeks in the fluorescent light mattered. Whom they invited to the wedding mattered. What church they decided to get married in mattered. What neighborhood they bought a house in mattered.

_No, mother I don’t think it matters if the dresses are aqua blue instead of azure blue. John, I know this place has a nice living room, but couldn’t we find a place with a bigger yard? Do you really think anyone will notice that my wedding cake servers are silver-plated instead of pure silver? Yes, I know your wedding dress was long sleeved, but why does MINE have to be? Mother, plenty of people wear leggings as pants, now. No, I don’t care what the ladies at church have to say about it. I am well aware that the house two doors down from you is for sale, and I am not the least bit interested in-._

Stress and mutations have a tendency to go hand in hand, it seemed. The morning she’d awakened to a room covered in hair was three days before her role in the school play. The morning her hair decided to pick up a bottle of hair bleach and chuck it directly at a pair of noisy students was three months before her wedding.

Thirty minutes later a video of Wendy’s hair recklessly chucking every item within its grasp across the room and breaking any item it could find, while Wendy screamed and students ran in horror, was uploaded to Youtube. Three hours later it was the hot topic of every social media site. By 5:00pm it was on the news, and by 5:30pm, Wendy was fired from the cosmetology school.

The following eight months were a futile practice in damage control. Headlines and copies of the video read things like: “Hair Raising Mutie,” “Mad Medusa Mutant,” “Rapunzel’s Rage,” “Hair Today; Mutant Tomorrow.” But most just referred to her as “Hair Girl.” Although Wendy’s fiancée left her when he found out she was a mutant, she was rarely alone. Reporters waited for her outside of restaurants, grocery stores, and even her gynecologist’s office. The few restaurants, grocery stores and one gynecologist that would still serve her, of course.

There were different versions of the video, too. Some were clever: One person sped up the footage slightly and set it to the tune of “Yakety Sax.” Someone else recobbled it together into an Evanescence music video. Another person had animated her locks of hair into snakes, and her eyes into lasers. Impressive, but she personally felt like the creator had a little too much time on their hands.

The videos and memes, like all the comments and emails, began as funny, but soon became mean, then cruel, then inappropriate, and eventually downright disturbing. She was well-aware of the Axel Braun porn parody of her, but no, she had not “watched it.” Conservative news media labelled her a menace, and even more liberal outlets criticized her for further fueling the flames of mutant fear. Making it even harder for mutants to find jobs in mainstream industries. Wendy wasn’t sure she believed that, she was more of the impression that she just happened to be a convenient scapegoat.

Her family was not immune to the attention either. The phone calls were so constant, that her father had taken to leaving the house phone unplugged. None of them answered their cell phones unless they recognized the number. Being accosted by anti-mutant protestors was a near daily occurrence in the first few months after the incident. Wendy and her family had learned not to glance at the tabloid papers stuffed into magazine racks near the grocery store checkout line. Some of Wendy’s father’s clients had even threatened to fire him, but as a CPA to some semi-high profile accounts, he knew far too much about their spending habits and what he’d done to keep them private from both the IRS, and sometimes their spouses, to let him go.

There were lawsuits: “Lying about her mutant status,” “endangering innocent civilians,” and “unmanaged mutant powers.” Fines and possible jail time loomed ominously in her future. Fortunately, all charges were eventually dropped, but they had frightened Wendy enough for her to not want to leave her house. There were at least two whole months where Wendy only saw the sunshine through peeks in her blinds.

It sure seemed an awfully big fuss over some poor, midwestern girl whose only crime was just having a bad day…

“How did you manage to keep it hidden all those years?” Amanda’s voice snapped Wendy back into present day.

“It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “But honestly, at the beginning it was just a little extra hair growth. It was pretty innocuous. I just had to cut it… every day.” 

Amanda looked up from where she was putting her sweatpants back on.

“Every _day_?”

“Yup. Every. Single. Day…” Wendy sighed, still moving the brush through her hair. “It was a pain in the ass, but my parents insisted.”

“Sounds pretty strict.”

“You have no idea…” Wendy wasn’t sure she was ready to tell her friend just how meticulous her parents were in keeping their daughter’s mutant status a secret, just yet. It wasn’t something she really liked thinking about either.

Amanda pulled her t-shirt back over her head.

“Here I thought my mutant reveal was bad…” She said.

“What happened to you?” Wendy asked.

“Mine happened in the middle of a date,” Amanda said as she bent down to pull her socks back on.

“Ugh…” Wendy grunted.

“Yeah…” Amanda made a face. “And with someone I’d really been crushing on for a while, too.” She paused and reached for her shoes. “Up until that point it had been the perfect date. We went to an amusement park and spent the whole day together. And in true, cheesy theme park fashion we decided to go on the ferris wheel together. When we stopped at the top, we both leaned in for a kiss, and all of a sudden, I’m shrinking… melting… down to the floor of the cabin. If my date hadn’t reached over and scooped me up, I might have just slid right off the ride.”

“Yikes!” Wendy exclaimed. “That must have been terrifying!”

“I’ll say,” Amanda replied, tying her sneakers. “And needless to say, there wasn’t a second date.”

“Ouch… I’m sorry,” Wendy frowned.

“Meh, it’s fine,” she shrugged, but the corner of her mouth twitched slightly. “In a way it was kind of a relief. My whole family are mutants. My mom, my dad, my older brother, my younger sister… I was kind of feeling left out.” She winked again.

Fully dressed once again, Amanda stood up and Wendy realized her roommate was actually rather tall, in addition to her athletic build. She wondered what Amanda had done for work before coming here but decided not to ask.

“Hey I have a class this afternoon, but I need to grab some lunch first. Wanna’ come with me?”

Wendy shifted uncomfortably. Even though Wendy’s stomach felt like an empty pit, the conversation had made her queasy. Besides, she wasn’t sure she was ready to make a new friend just yet. Even one as nice as Amanda seemed.

_Trust no one_ … That’s what her parents had always told her.

“I appreciate the invite, but I think I want to go ahead and get this physical over with,” Wendy said, and then added with what she hoped was a genuine smile. “I’d rather the doctor check my weight BEFORE I eat…”

Amanda laughed. “Understand. Besides, I’m sure you need some time to settle in, first.”

She seemed like such a relaxed person, and Wendy immediately felt guilty for lying. Not that she wasn’t used to lying, by now.

“Thanks,” Wendy muttered. “Raincheck?”

“Sure, hope your physical goes well,” Amanda started for the door, and then paused and added over her shoulder. “Oh yeah, you’ll probably meet Dr. McCoy.”

“Erm, should I be worried?” Wendy asked, laying her hairbrush aside.

“Nah,” Amanda waved a hand dismissively. “He’s actually really nice just… uh… he looks like… um… Oh you’ll see. It’s tough to explain. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.”

“Oh…” Wendy muttered. She had already seen a handful of _unique_ looking mutants. How strange could this doctor look? Was it something she would eventually just get used to?

“Thanks, I guess,” Wendy said. “Catch you later?”

“No problem,” Amanda replied. “See you!” With that, she let herself out and silence once again filled the room.

Wendy tossed herself backward on the bed with an audible groan. The mattress was far more comfortable than she expected, and she found herself snuggling into the fresh-smelling comforter. Apparently, Xavier’s Institute spared no expense when it came to housing their students comfortably. It would have been so easy to just curl up and take a nap, but Wendy knew she would have a much harder time forcing herself to get her physical if she lingered in bed much longer.

“Okay, count of three and then up,” Wendy said to herself. “Here we go… one… two… uh… two and a half… two and three quarters… two and ow, hey!” Her hair decided to make the decision for her. Her long strands curled in the air and began to tug on her scalp.

“Ow! OW! FINE! I’m going!” Wendy exclaimed, but she couldn’t help giggling a bit. Reluctantly she pulled herself into a sitting position, and her hair only continued to tug until she finally lifted herself to standing. “Seriously guys, whose side are you on?” Her hair replied by falling elegantly around her.

“Easy for you guys to say,” she muttered. “You just get to go along for the ride.”

Wendy swung her purse over her shoulder again, grabbing the keys and map Ororo left for her. She glanced over the map quickly. Walking around with a map in hand just screamed “newbie,” but Wendy would rather that than get lost on the first day. Besides, Xavier’s may be a big mansion, but it was small for a school; being labelled the “new girl” was inevitable. It was no worse than “Hair Girl,” was it?

“Let’s get this over with,” she said, softly as she locked the door behind her.


End file.
